Give Me Thunder
by snappleducated
Summary: So, about that time Noah Puckerman stole a car...before he learned how to drive. Oh, and he accidentally kidnapped Rachel Berry. It was a very eventful day. — Puck/Rachel


**ENTITLED**: Give Me Thunder  
><strong>FANDOM<strong>: GLEE  
><strong>LENGTH<strong>: 1,750 words  
><strong>SETTING<strong>: several years pre-series  
><strong>DISCLAIMER<strong>: I do not own GLEE, and frankly I have never been sure if it's written as GLEE/Glee/glee. DILEMA.  
><strong>NOTES<strong>: This is for _iMissa_. It is 1.5 years late, and is therefore a _travesty_, and a stain upon my good name, and other such scandalous things. Also, newsflash: YOU CAN BE A TOTAL PROCRASTINATOR AND STILL GO TO COLLEGE. I would know. _I live the dream_.  
><strong>SUMMARY<strong>: So, about that time Noah Puckerman stole a car...before he learned how to drive. Oh, and he accidentally kidnapped Rachel Berry. It was a very eventful day. — Puck/Rachel

* * *

><p>Puck wasn't really sure why he stole the car.<p>

Actually, wait, lie: he did it 'cause the owner was a dick who was hitting on his mom, and that was just not cool. It was all sorts of tool-ish. Also, it was a Mercedes-Benz, and it was red, and it was a stunning combination of antique and brand spanking new.

Plus, chicks dug criminals. Puck knew this from experience. All you had to do was slap on the label of "vigilante" and they were all over that shit, and hardcore into justifying every little thing you did. Puck's childhood was therefore incredibly tortured, which as a result justified his lashing out at society, in the subconscious hope that a father-figure would appear to firmly, but lovingly, correct his actions.

Puck knew all of this because Susan Tyson had explained it to him, and she had perfect boobs. _Perfect_. Plus, she thought he was sixteen, like her, instead of fourteen. Which was awesome and probably due to all the time he'd been spending at the gym lately.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rachel snarled, and reached up through the headrest to grip the back of his neck, "You're driving with the emergency break on, Noah!"

"Whatever," Puck dismissed, meaning he didn't know what that was or how to turn it off. And then he screamed.

Because, like, _Rachel Berry_.

"Jesus!"

"I don't know if we're allowed to say that," Rachel snipped, and folded her arms, nose poking into the air. Puck spared a moment to consider how extraordinarily irritating she was, and then took another for further consideration as to which of them had been more politically incorrect.

He abandoned the train of thought almost immediately because: WHATEVER.

"Did you really just steal my dad's car? Did you _really_ just run over the curb? Noah, that is like, six points off your license. Or your permit. Whatever. By the way, you're not allowed to drive me, because I am not a member of your immediate family or an adult. Legally. I mean, I sport the full vocal range of a professional opera singer with twenty years of professional training, but-"

"You have food stuck in your teeth, fatty," Puck snapped, and hoped to everything holy that this would be enough to stop her verbal rampage.

Rachel swelled with girlish-rage, and crossed her arms, "_Noah_, I am not _fat_, I have a BMI of 20.4, which puts me within the ideal range for Hollywood Starlets. Also, I floss seven times a day as part of my regime for maintaining my perfect oral hygiene."

She proceeded to flip her hair over her shoulder. This was probably why Puck ended up hopping the curb yet again, and mowwed down a lemonade stand.

He really did consider stopping. Kinda.

"NOAH!" Rachel roared, and lunged over the coffee-holder center-piece so she could grapple for the wheel, "YOU ARE COMPLETELY INCOMPETENT!"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled back at her, "WOMAN, LET ME DRIVE THE CAR!"

"BUT YOU _CAN'T_!" she screamed, her face flushing such a deep red that purple undertones were beginning to appear, "YOU CAN'T DRIVE THE CAR BECAUSE YOU ARE A DELINQUENT AND A MORON AND AN _UNCERTIFIED DRIVER_!"

Puck bared his teeth at her. Like she could really get away with bossing him around just because he didn't happen to remember what uncertified meant. Please! He was Noah Puckerman, and words were just a bunch of stupid made up noises anyways. Completely pointless. Furthermore, she'd probably just made it up. To divert her, Puck attacked, "Tell your stupid gay dad to stay away from my mom."

Rachel looked at him disbelievingly, "My father is _gay_."

"I know. I just said that."

Rachel stared at him for a second, then came to a visible understanding. Her face squished with revulsion, "Not 'gay' in the inappropriate and juvenile context you're using it in, I mean his romantic partner is another man!"

Puck processed this, "Oh. Well."

"Well," Rachel agreed, voice edged dangerously. She folded her arms. Puck drove for a relatively peaceful moment. He thought he might have smelled burning rubber for a moment, then abruptly dismissed the thought.

"Well, I still took his car," Puck said, and then careened into the mall's parking lot. Rachel screamed.

"WRONG WAY WRONG WAY YOU ARE IN THE WRONG LANE NOAH YOU ARE GOING TO GET US KILLED OR RUIN THE CAR IF YOU KILL ME I WILL HAVE TO REFER YOU TO LOUIS SHE'S MY TALENT AGENT."

"SHUT UP," Puck screeched, flustered, and then attempted to wrench the key out of the ignition. It was jammed in, and he continued to struggle with it until Rachel threw herself forwards and put the car in park.

The two of them hung there for a moment, faintly shaking, and covered in a delicate layer of sweat. Rachel took a rough breath, then tossed her hair back in that way he couldn't stand, and dabbed at the bit of perspiration below her eyes. That's what she would have called it, "perspiration,", instead of "sweat".

"I have some questions," she announced, and Puck groaned, slumping to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, arms hanging limply from where he continued to grip. Slowly, he let them slide into his lap.

"Am I correct in understanding that you _stole my father's car_ because you thought he was hitting on your mother?" Rachel queried, in a voice primed for false pleasantness.

"Mmf," Puck replied. Rachel folded her hands primly in her lap, posture perfect. Puck gave her a long, sideways look. God, she was insufferable.

"I see," Rachel continued with that same maddening calm, "Then you are both pathologically territorial and astonishingly immature, in addition to being reputably imbecilic."

Puck processed this. And then he said, "You know what, Rachel, why don't you just leave."

"I can't," she said immediately, "I am the prime witness to this crime, after all, and I have every intention of turning this experience into a positive one. I admit I was a bit uncertain as to which of my experiences what my college essays would detail, but I certainly think this makes a prime candidate. Suspending our acknowledged reality for a moment, let us imagine that there exists another applicant somewhere out there with a theatrical and musical training equal to my own. An impossible scenario, I know, but if you will simply follow me for another moment-"

"I actually hate you right now," Puck realized.

"-impossible for her to have been the victim of a kidnapping as well, aren't I right? You see, Noah? I do bring diversity to the table!" that said, Rachel crossed her arms proudly, and beamed at him. Puck ignored her and her silliness. He was still troubled that he had been tricked into feeling something unmistakably classified as a genuine emotion towards Rachel Berry.

No one must ever know.

"I want to go for ice cream," Rachel said, dreamily. It wasn't really directed at him, but Puck scoffed regardless.

"I would sooner cut off my toes than go on a date with you."

For a long second she just looked at him, face flat, in a way that made him feel a little sick, because he could wear that look, too. Even he knew the difference between being mean and being _mean_.

"I wouldn't go far," Rachel said, after a second, and something adjusted back into place, toughening her up, and whatever remorse Puck had almost felt immediately vanished. "I mean, it's really going off what I say that determines whether my dad calls the cops."

Puck stared at her.

"I could be persuaded to plead your case. Oh, sure, your mother will be angry with you, you'll be punished, but it's not so bad, is it? Nothing lasting. Our families would work out some way to cover the damages and everything would move swiftly along its way. But. I could also say that you threatened to hurt me. And I can promise you that things will not go over smoothly for you then, Noah."

Puck considered this. He had a brief mental image of being burned at the stake.

"Or." Rachel smiled, sweetly, malevolently, "Or, you could buy me ice cream."

Puck licked his lips, "You can't tell anyone."

Rachel pursed her lips, "You have to hold my hand, and I will tell whoever I damn well please."

She looked a bit thrilled with herself for swearing. Puck rolled his eyes. He was not thrilled at all. Fiery Rachel was just as irritating as default Rachel.

"No."

"Noah," Rachel snapped her door open, "I should think you are precious short of time and in desperate need of pleading your case."

Puck threw his door open, snatched at her hand and growled, "You don't own me, Berry."

"Make sure you lock the door," Rachel smirked, and tightened her fingers as if to say, _Yeah, I do._


End file.
